In Sickness and in Sickness?
by Regency
Summary: (Spoilers for BJB.) Bridget is under the weather and Mark has a plane to catch. But he can't leave her alone not knowing she's loved. She is very, very loved.


Author: Regency

Title: In Sickness and in...Sickness?

Rating: G/Everyone

Pairing: Mark Darcy/Bridget Jones

Warnings: None

Summary: (Spoilers for BJB.) Bridget is under the weather and Mark has a plane to catch. But he can't leave her alone not knowing she's loved. She is very, very loved.

Prompt: 'Mark/Bridget #186 - It doesn't matter, I'm not leaving you'

Author's Note: So, I am aware that in that book we don't discuss that William is called Billy but I just am not doing it. William is what we have and I'm shortening it to Will. Come flail with me on Tumblr at sententiousandbellicose. You can prompt me things!

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable as being from any incarnation of the Bridget Jones series. They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.

* * *

She gets sick eleven hours before his flight to Chile. Wracked with chills and cough, a sore throat, and generally achy all over. She's bad off enough that neither of them feel comfortable keeping Will in the house. Mark reluctantly packs their son's things under Bridget's direction and totes him off to her parents' for the next three days.

Mark will only be gone three days and Bridget's sworn on her old diary that she'll by fine on her own. Of course, when she initially said that, she was in the bloom of health, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed–which in hindsight might have been the first signs of fever setting in. The urban family have assured Mark ad nauseam, as he has asked ad nauseam, that they'll take care of her the same as they have during all his absences. He should be reassured.

It's quite possible they didn't mean anything by it when they said that. No recriminations or muttered accusation. Maybe that's all in him. It isn't as though it's untrue that they've always been there for her. There were months during their previous romantic efforts when he saw his driver more often than the woman he claimed to love. He doubts Sharon or Jude or Tom ever went so long without stopping by to see to their friend.

It's those thoughts running riot in his head that keep him from stepping into their bedroom to kiss Bridget goodbye.

His flight's in two hours. It's hardly light enough out to be considered dawn much less a respectable time of day. She shouldn't even be awake, but the misery of her early illness has her firmly in its grip and there's no rest to be found.

She sneezes again, groaning in tired disgust at whatever's come out of her nose this time. He makes a mental note to pick up more Kleenex for her. They're going to have to resort to baby wipes if she keeps up like this.

"Bridget, I'm heading out. Can I get you anything before I go?"

Bridget peers out of a burrow hole of blankets to wave a tissue-laden hand at him. Her voice is pitifully muffled by her stopped up nose. "Nope, I'm all good. Shazza's bringing soup and lemon tea for lunch. I'll be right as rain before you get home."

"Is there anything you need that can't wait?"

She shrugs. Well, he thinks she shrugs; it's hard to tell underneath all those blankets.

"Bridget."

"I'm freezing. Turn up the heat on your way out." She's verging on tetchy. She gets the same way when William keeps up themselves and the neighbors with colic and she can't figure out how to quiet him down or soothe his discomfort. She just wants to sleep. Mark can't leave her like this.

"Would a hot water bottle help?"

She rears her head reluctantly. Her sniffles continue. "If you can find my electric blanket I can make it worth your while. When you get back, of course."

How she manages to be absolutely alluring with bed head, Rudolph's nose, and bloodshot eyes, he'll never know. _It must be love._

"I've got a better idea."

"Oh?" She blinks sluggishly and unearths herself from her molehill to consider his proposal.

He sheds his coat and scarf, tosses his weekend bag at the foot of the bed, and kicks off his shoes.

"I don't think sex will do it, Mark."

"And here I thought sex solved everything."

She's watching him very intensely for a woman too sick to even think about all the things they'd happily done to each other yesterday. Mark looks forward to getting back to their newly reunited bliss, but this morning he has other priorities.

"Shove over. I'm getting in."

She eyes the clock, squinting a bit to make out the numbers. "You'll be late for your flight," she exclaims, but moves over nonetheless. He crawls in after her and props himself against the headboard at her side.

"I'm not going to be late for it, I'm going to miss it. I'm not going." A gut impulse, but one he feels sure about. He's going with it.

"What? Of course you are. They need you in Santiago."

"They need an attorney. I'll make sure someone else goes in my place. I'm very concerned and I don't intend to shirk my duties, but none of that matters as much as you. I'm not leaving you."

Bridget twists her Kleenex between her hands, swallowing back phlegm or a cough or some painfully awaited emotion. She bears up well against it. She's gotten so strong in his absence. He's missed too much of the amazing woman she's become.

"You'll catch my cold," she tries, offering him another easy out. He could still make his flight. He won't, but he could.

"There are worst things. We'll be sick and get better together. In the meantime, let me look after you."

"Why?"

"Because you're one of the two most important people in my life and I never want you to doubt it again."

"But your job–it's really important." She's yielding. He can read it in her. He knows her too well. She gives him every chance until he squanders them; he won't squander this one.

"Yes, it is. So are you. You've been amazing, looking after Will when I had to attend emergency sessions in chambers. But that wasn't the deal. My being gone constantly wasn't the deal we made when we agreed to try again. This," he gestures between them, " was the deal, and that necessitates the odd sacrifice. They shouldn't all be yours."

Her nostrils flare on a labored inhale. She's shaking a little; it may not all be chills.

"I love you. I don't remember if I've said that recently, but I really love you, Mark Darcy."

"I know," he says a bit smugly, only to got a neck pillow to the face for his trouble.

"Egotist!" She wallops him once more and snuggles up at his side to steal his body heat. She's radiating warmth, though it's clear her shivers haven't abated.

Mark is suddenly overcome by the strangest tingling sensation in his sinuses. He wrinkles his brow, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Bridget notices.

"What's that look about? What's wrong?"

"I don't kn–owow– _ah-choo_!" He covers his nose but the sneeze still knocks him over into Bridget. "Shit."

It's down to Bridget to set them to rights as his senses come back to him.

"Oh no," she giggles, nasally and tickled pink, "you're already sick."

He supposes that accounts for the slightly rundown feeling he's been ignoring since he'd dropped off Will last night. He'd assumed it was just anxiety, perhaps an oncoming migraine. _Damn it._ He'll have to tell Bridget's parents to check Will for symptoms. Their boy's in perfect health, but it never hurts to be vigilant.

"I need to call Pam," he says and then immediately begins to cough. _Good god, that came on quick._

"You need to rest," Bridget retorts, rubbing at his stooped shoulders. "You think it's bad now, try pushing it."

"I'll just text." But his coat, draped over Bridget's armchair on the other side of the room, seems an incalculable distance away, and his phone with it. He rubs his eyes. Those sleepless baby nights are catching up to him. All of three months old and Will has the stamina of a teenage athlete. And the lung capacity.

"Mum and Dad'll look after him. Come on, get back under here. You're letting all the heat out and I'm still freezing."

Mark won't be much use in that effort for long.

She pets his hair as he flops back onto his side of the bed. "Good thing you didn't go, then. That's the last thing your clients need: an English head cold." She's very much having a laugh at his expense. He doesn't mind over much. He's glad he gets to be close enough to see it.

She does him the honor of inviting him into her duvet cocoon, which is actually quite snug, his must admit.

"Well, there's some good news," he offers.

"Oh, yeah, what's that?"

"Looks like we've got a good start on 'in sickness and in health.'"

She makes the exact same expression she made the first time. It's uncanny how crisp his memories are of her. It's stunning how that woman who believed unalterably in his love for her still exists.

"Again?"

He kisses her nose that's situated rather conveniently near his lips. "And for the rest of my life."

Bridget sighs long-sufferingly, but it's belied by the dazzling smile on her face. "I suppose one more time might do it." She goes over slightly stern. "It had better."

He raises his right hand somewhere beneath all the eiderdown. "When it's right, once more is all you need."

Her laughter at his saccharine response explodes into an ear-popping sneezing fit that sets him off as well.

Well, at least he's in good company.

Colds are awful. Mark doesn't need to experience more than one a year to know that . Shared colds are slightly less unpleasant. But nothing compares to the contentment on Bridget's face as she realizes that when he says he'll be there from now on he means it.


End file.
